The Drive Within
by The Lady Frost
Summary: Sometimes strength is about more than fists. Starting over might be the hardest battle she's ever faced. It's a good thing she won't be doing it alone. For some people, power comes in the form of family. (Nivanfield, slow burn Cleon. Claire focused story about loss and forgiveness and letting go.)
1. Chapter 1

**Saoirse (*1):**

**The Drive Within**

**_Prologue:_**

**_Leannán_**

**(LAN-awn): Lover**

* * *

_May you never forget_

_what is worth remembering_

_and never remember_

_what is best forgotten-_

**_Irish Blessing_**

* * *

**July 4th 2009-**

_Oh and it's a happy independence day to ye!_

_Hail and well met Ms. Redfield!_

_We're writing to inform you of the good fortune that has befallen you. You appear to be the sole inheritance of the very dead Ennis McDougal (we regret his passing as much as we can, you see, but he was a bit of a stook after all). He went to the lord in heaven most recently and left you all his worldly possessions (it would seem he was kin to your late mother, Siobhan, may god rest her soul)._

_We look forward to meetin ya when you get the occasion to come see what you've inherited! Don't fret overly for the late Ennis, again...he wasn't much more than a bit of a cock in life, so we he won't be missed. But we'll be thrilled to meet ya!_

_Sincerely,_

_Molly O'Riley and family_

_County Clare, Ireland_

* * *

**_(Pre-Marhawa Incidient -2010)_**

**_17th Jan 2010_**

**_Dear Claire_**_,_

_On behalf of our unit, I just wanted to say it was real nice to get to see you the other day. Thank you for taking the time to talk with everyone. The guys really appreciated it._

_I know you were surprised by the men's reaction upon first seeing you. Let me explain. When we heard that Terra Save would be arriving on location, well, the men knew that you'd be coming and so they got a bit excited over the idea. They'd only heard stories about you, and since you're the Captain's sister, well...let's just say they were expecting someone more along the lines of his build. I tried to tell them otherwise, but their imaginations got the best of them._

_So then when you arrived...well, aside from not being what they expected, we don't get to interact with a lot of pretty women in our line of work, so that's why they had the reaction that they did. Then they had to remember that you're the Captain's sister, and it made them all awkward... I'm sorry about that, ma'am._

_You probably saw it for yourself, but we all have a lot of admiration and respect for the captain. In addition to being a very capable leader, he treats us like family. He's an inspiration to us all._

_Speaking for the men, we're all looking forward to the chance to work with you again. Our paths may not cross often, and I know you're busy, but it'd be nice to talk every now and then, even through email. Just between you and me, if you have any pictures of the Captain when he was younger, I'd sure love to see them! I hear he was very different back then, but he won't show us anything..._

_There's a lot more I'd like to say, but it's time to get ready for our next posting. These missions aren't easy, but it's nice to know we've got allies such as your organization backing us up. Keep fighting the good fight._

_1LT Piers Nivans_  
_BSAA North American Branch_

* * *

**_Jan. 19th 2010_**

**_Dear LT Nivans,_**

_It's so nice to hear from you! The visit to the stationary on site relief effort was eye opening. In my line of work, I often times see the worst that bioterror can give us. It was interesting to look at it from the side of the battle, instead of the relief._

_I'm sorry that I might have come across as too "Braveheart" in my speech! I was trying to stay uplifting and supportive of the cause, so I'm glad it came across as inspirational instead of patronizing!_

_For the record, Chris was always a big kid. He wouldn't like you to know it, but he was chubby up until the sixth grade! XD_

_For the record? Ma'am makes me feel old! Let's leave that behind, and keep this our secret! I've enclosed pictures of Chris from his formative chubster years. If he catches you with them, you didn't get them from me! We're now in cahoots!_

_A curious question of a personal nature, what kind of a name is Piers?_

_Sincerely,_

_Claire Redfield, TerraSave_

* * *

**_23rd Jan 2010_**

**_Dear Claire,_**

_The origins of the name Piers come from the ancient Anglo-Saxon culture of Britain. It is derived from the baptismal name for the son of Peter. Not bored enough yet? I'd like to give you a fantastic story about a boy raised in a heavily inspiring culture, but it's more simple than that._

_I've got family all over the world, honestly. But I grew up in Missouri, a military brat by trade, with a mother who loved her bible. My two brother's are both named odd things as well: Calvert and Emory. There was a lot of patriotism, pride, and love in my house. But we all had horrible names._

_Don't let the ma'am thing upset you. It's bone deep respect that was put in me at birth I think. For the record? Old is not something that your beauty is. It's timeless. Without sounding derivative? Your hair is titian, and your beauty is timeless._

_The pictures are as well. I've started a scrap book for the men and for the Captain's upcoming birthday. I hope you can attend!_

_Respectfully,_

_1Lt Nivans_

* * *

**_Jan 28th 2010_**

_Dear Lt Nivans,_

_I don't think compliments are ever derivative if they're true. I'm taking what you said as true, just so we're clear. I'm also flattered. Especially since I'm old enough to be your mother and you look like a cover model for GQ. Surely there's women closer to your age that would love those eyelashes of yours to blink and compliment them?_

_I will do my best to make Chris' birthday, he's got an over the hill cake coming his way, that's for sure!_

_I was an army brat too. Chris and I lived all over before my parents passed away. In fact, we lived in Springfield, Missouri for a time. Any chance you're related to the Nivans family there?_

_Sincerely,_

_Claire Redfield, TerraSave_

* * *

**_30th Jan 2010_**

_Dear Claire,_

_...that's my Yaya and cousins that still live there. What a small world! As for the old comment, what you see as old? I see as timeless._

_Sincerely,_

_Lt Nivans_

* * *

**_Jan 30th 2010_**

_Dear Lt Nivans,_

_Yaya? And...I wasn't aware anyone under my brother's command had any charm. Chris is about as charming as a wet pair of underwear._

_Sincerely,_

_Claire_

* * *

**_30th Jan 2010_**

_Claire,_

_Yaya is the Greek word for grandmother. I forgot to mention that part. Lots of Greek roots on this side._

_Addtionally? I've been with men for the last eighteen months. I haven't seen any underwear at all. It's all very upsetting._

_Sincerely,_

_Piers_

* * *

**_Feb 2nd 2010_**

_Piers,_

_You poor thing. I want to help with the cause. Want to see mine?_

_Claire_

* * *

**_14 Feb 2010_**

_Claire,_

_It's probably weird to respond to that on Valentine's Day but there it is. I'd say yes, and ask for pictures, but I suspect the Captain would castrate me. Of course, then I wouldn't need underwear either._

_Sincerely,_

_Piers_

* * *

**_Feb 14th 2010_**

_Piers,_

_I can handle Chris Redfield, I promise. But I need to secure a direct proportional response. Quid pro quo?_

_Claire_

* * *

**_14 Feb 2010_**

_Claire,_

_I'm a gentleman. I think I need to buy you dinner first. How do you feel about porridge? Or MRES?_

_Piers._

* * *

**_Feb 14 2010_**

_Piers,_

_Why not? It's Valentine's Day. How do you feel about Skype?_

_Claire_

* * *

**_13th Mar 2010_**

_Claire,_

_On our way back from Australia with Dr. Chambers. She's incredible! I've never met someone with such a fertile mind. Any chance you'll be stateside when we land?_

_We'll be landing at 0210 at O'Hare in Chicago._

_Piers_

* * *

**_Mar 13th 2010_**

_Piers,_

_You kidding? I'm in Chicago now for a conference. I'll pick you up! It'll be great to see you!_

_Claire_

* * *

**_14 Mar 2010_**

_Claire,_

_When I die I want your hands on my eyes:_  
_I want the light and the wheat of your beloved hands_  
_to pass their freshness over me one more time_  
_to feel the smoothness that changed my destiny._

_I want you to live while I wait for you, asleep,_  
_I want for your ears to go on hearing the wind,_  
_for you to smell the sea that we loved together_  
_and for you to go on walking the sand where we walked._

_I want for what I love to go on living_  
_and as for you I loved you and sang you above everything,_  
_for that, go on flowering, flowery one,_

_so that you reach all that my love orders for you,_  
_so that my shadow passes through your hair,_  
_so that they know by this the reason for my song._

_-Pablo Neruda_

* * *

**_March 14th 2010_**

_Piers,_

_I don't know if I should laugh or cry. This morning was the first time I woke up and didn't feel alone in a long time. I wish you could have stayed longer. I wish...I wish there were a thousand hours in the day that we could spend together. What can we say now?_

_After all, there's no need_

_to say anything_

_at first. An orange, peeled_

_and quartered, flares_

_like a tulip on a wedgewood plate_

_Anything can happen._

_Outside the sun_

_has rolled up her rugs_

_and night strewn salt_

_across the sky. My heart_

_is humming a tune_

_I haven't heard in years!_

_Quiet's cool flesh—_

_let's sniff and eat it._

_There are ways_

_to make of the moment_

_a topiary_

_so the pleasure's in_

_walking through._

_-Rita Dove_

* * *

**_18 Jun 2010_**

_Claire,_

_I just got the care basket - I couldn't be happier. How'd you know about the gummy worms? Did my mother call you again?_

_Piers_

* * *

**_June 18th 2010_**

_Piers,_

_Yup. We have lunch twice a week now. Scared?_

* * *

**_18 Jun 2010_**

_Claire,_

_Nope. You should be though. She has a really big rolling pin in that house. Also? She likes the big "M"._

_Piers_

* * *

**_June 18th 2010_**

_Piers,_

_M? For Making Love?_

_Claire_

* * *

**_18 Jun 2010_**

_Claire,_

_I wish. But it's "M" for marriage. She wants me to marry you. What do you say?_

_Piers_

* * *

**_Jun 18 2010_**

_Piers,_

_I say you shouldn't propose to a girl via email. Who raised you?!_

_Claire_

* * *

**_18 Jun 2010_**

_Claire,_

_She walks in beauty, like the night  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;  
Thus mellowed to that tender light  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies._

_-Byron_

* * *

**_June 18th 2010_**

_Piers,_

_...my heart is pounding here. What are you saying here?._

_Claire_

* * *

**_18 Jun 2010_**

_Claire,_

_I loved you first: but afterwards your love  
Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song  
As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove._

_Which owes the other most? my love was long,_  
_And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong;_  
_I loved and guessed at you, you construed me_  
_And loved me for what might or might not be –_  
_Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong._

_For verily love knows not 'mine' or 'thine;'  
With separate 'I' and 'thou' free love has done,  
For one is both and both are one in love:  
Rich love knows nought of 'thine that is not mine;'  
Both have the strength and both the length thereof,  
Both of us, of the love which makes us one._

_Piers,_

* * *

**_June 23rd 2010_**

_Piers,_

_I took a few days to digest your last email and finally couldn't stand it anymore. It's killing me, but I had to say it. I love you too. I do. Lord, it's scary. Big hero huh? Scared of the "l" word._

_Claire._

* * *

**_Claire,_**

_"L" for likes it dirty?_

_Piers_

* * *

**_Piers,_**

_Not a red rose or a satin heart.  
I give you an onion.  
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.  
It promises light  
like the careful undressing of love._

_Here.  
It will blind you with tears  
like a lover.  
It will make your reflection  
a wobbling photo of grief._

_-Duffy_

* * *

**_Claire,_**

_...my cup runneth over._

_Piers_

* * *

**_Dec 24 2010,_**

**_P,_**

_It's been about three months since you went into the woods with Chris to hunt for signs of survival outside Nimgazi. I've emailed twelve times. I'm starting to lose hope. It's Christmas Eve. Will I ever see you again?_

_I'm starting to lose heart._

_I miss you._

_Claire_

* * *

**_25 Dec 2010_**

_Claire,_

_...look outside._

_Piers_

* * *

**_18 Jun 2011_**

**_Dear Claire,_**

_After your ordeal on Sushestvovanie Island, I could barely belief that you made it out alive. I'd known, of course, that you were strong. I'd heard. I had no idea you were a Valkyrie. When I heard...when I heard they'd taken you...I don't even remember it. Those days when you were first gone._

_I think I went insane. I think I went into shock. I think maybe I was lost or something._

_I don't know what I'd do if I lost you. I'm coming to see you. As soon as they let me off this god forsaken island, I'm coming to see you._

_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways._  
_I love thee to the depth and breadth and height  
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight_  
_For the ends of being and ideal grace._  
_I love thee to the level of every day's_  
_Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light._  
_I love thee freely, as men strive for right._  
_I love thee purely, as they turn from praise._  
_I love thee with the passion put to use_  
_In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith._  
_I love thee with a love I seemed to lose_  
_With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,_  
_Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,_  
_I shall but love thee better after death._

_-Elizabeth Barrett Browning_

* * *

**_June 18th 2011_**

**_Piers,_**

_I was wrong before. I was stupid. I was scared. Marry me. Say yes. I can't breathe without you._

_Claire_

* * *

**_Claire,_**

**_Yes._**

**_Piers_**

* * *

**_1 Jan 2012_**

**_Claire,_**

_I don't know when I'll get back. This is a fucking mess. There's rumors too of the Edonian Civil unrest rivaling that of the Eastern Slav Republic. I miss you. I wish you had said yes to eloping when I saw you last._

_I don't know if we'll get the wedding you deserve._

_At some point in 2012, an incident occurred where two female students fled the academy. One of the escaping students had an accident which took her life, and the surviving one was forcibly taken back to the academy._

_It was in this time when Carla Radames, founder and leader of the terrorist organization "Neo Umbrella" infiltrated the compound. Under the disguise of a cloaked traveler, she provided the student who survived the fleeing scene with a mutagenic virus, claiming that it can bring back her deceased friend and exacting revenge. Not long after this encounter, one by one the students and workers of the academy began to turn into zombies, albeit with new traits unknown at the time._

_Dr. Doug Wright, an advisor in the BSAA, was called to the academy by its headmistress, Gracia Delenikas. The two attempted to find a solution to the outbreak, but the number of infected student increased rapidly. Doug decided to contact the BSAA for backup, but Gracia was against this option, further worsening the situation. In the ensuing chaos, the headmistress, along with Dr. Wright and his companions lost their lives._

_The zombified students were later annihilated by BSAA agents dispatched to the area. We handled it, but the losses were hard._

_The Captain doesn't want to rest. He wants to immediately deploy to Edonia and assist there. We have the momentum now, I have to agree with him._

_I love you._

_I miss you,_

_P_

* * *

**_Piers,_**

_I'm in the ESR doing relief work. I love you too. BE CAREFUL!_

_Claire_

* * *

**_Claire,_**

_It's bad. It's so bad. It all went to shit. There was a woman, Ada Wong...I don't know how it happened. Come quickly. Hurry. The Captain is badly wounded, the men are dead. I did what I could. It all fell apart. I think I failed them all. I did it for the BSAA. I left them, I don't know if they were dead or alive. If they could be saved. I just saved the Captain. Was I wrong?_

_P._

* * *

**_Piers,_**

_I'm already there. You saved him. You did everything you could. You know the BSAA needs him to thrive. You are a hero. Don't ever say you're a failure again. You hear me? I'm already there. Thank you for protecting my brother._

_C_

* * *

**_Claire,_**

_I would die for you and for your brother. Believe that._

_P_

* * *

**_Piers,_**

_I would die without you. Believe that._

_C_

* * *

**_29th Jun 2013_**

**_Claire,_**

_The deep end is a god awful place. From the last time we saw each other, your brother had deteriorated. With Jill Valentine in charge, the BSAA holds together - weakly, but in good faith. How do I help him? How do I purge his pain? He needs you. I need you. Can you come?_

_P_

* * *

**_Jun 29th 2013_**

**_Piers,_**

_I will get there as soon as I can. There's a mess in China that's keeping us on all relief efforts. I'm so sorry. Can you get him somewhere safe for me? I will be there as soon as they let me charter a flight._

_I love you._

_C_

* * *

**_Claire,_**

_The china situation needs me as well. And I need him. I need him to lead the men. He has PTSD and amnesia, Claire. He doesn't remember who the hell he is. He's a fucking mess. Do I leave him behind here? Do I push him? What can I do?_

_P_

* * *

**_P,_**

_Get him on the mission. He will rise. It's all he knows how to do. Get him into the fight. It's how he'll remember. No matter what else, P, stand beside him. He'll come around. He can't do anything else but that._

_I have so much to tell you when I see you. Be safe. I will see you in Lanshiang._

_Claire_

* * *

**_Claire,_**

_I will protect him. I will push him. I will make him remember who he is. I can't wait to see you. I yearn for you._

_It's today: all of yesterday dropped away_  
_among the fingers of the light and the sleeping eyes._  
_Tomorrow will come on its green footsteps;_  
_no one can stop the river of the dawn._

_No one can stop the river of your hands,_  
_your eyes and their sleepiness, my dearest._  
_You are the trembling of time, which passes_  
_between the vertical light and the darkening sky._

_-Neruda_

_-P_

* * *

_This letter is written with deepest sympathy regarding Nivans, Piers 1LT to inform you, his spouse, that he was regrettably killed in action on this day 1 July 2013. He has been awarded the Medal of Honor and the Purple Heart for bravery and service his to country._

_We thank you for his sacrifice and God Bless the USA._

**_-Adjunct Attorney General of the United States of America, BSAA Division adjacent, USSTRATCOM secondary defense personnel department_**

* * *

**_2nd July 2013_**

_Congratulations, you're expecting! As we told you in person, you're pregnancy test was positive on initial exam. This letter confirms your bloodwork results for a pregnancy test dated 29th June 2013. You are EXPECTING! Please follow up with your doctor for additonal testing and prenatal care!_

_-Sincerely, Lanvin OBGYN and Associates, Park Avenue, New York_

* * *

**4th July 2013**

_Good day to you Claire! We look forward to meeting you! I can barely wait to see your face!_

_You'll love it here! It's a great place to renew your soul._

_May love and laughter light your days,  
and warm your heart and home.  
May good and faithful friends be yours,  
wherever you may roam.  
May peace and plenty bless your world  
with joy that long endures.  
May all life's passing seasons  
bring the best to you and yours!_

_-Molly_

* * *

**_Post Note: _**_This is all a love story. For Claire to Piers. For Claire to herself. For Claire to her future. It's a story about finding herself, when she's lost in the pain of it all - and being born again from the ashes of her own loss. It's completely outside of my wheelhouse in that there's no fighting, no zombies, no (un)death. Just rebirth - of the kind that has nothing to do with being undead- of how a woman finds the strength to move on, let go, and live again._

**_*1_**_\- _Saoirse (SEER-sha) – Freedom, liberty BEING WHO YOU ARE


	2. Chapter 2

**Saoirse :**

**The Drive Within**

**_Chapter One:_**

**_Dóchas (*1)_**

* * *

_Here's to a long life and a merry one_  
_A quick death and an easy one_  
_A pretty girl and an honest one_  
_A cold beer and another one!_

**_Irish Blessing_**

* * *

The flight over the greenest place she'd ever seen left her a little breathless.

There was nothing but rolling hills and cloudy skies. She was quick to discover that it was considered a fine and dandy day in the West Counties. The wonderful man who drove the "lorry" to take her toward Clare, informed her that she'd flown in at a grand time!

He said, "There'll be plenty of daylight left, you see, for you to set eyes on your new home. Sure and there's a grand stretch in the evenings before it goes down. It'll be past eleven before the darkness sets in."

He drove through the town of Ennis, the namesake of her dead uncle who was a bit of a stook in life. She was delighted to find out what stook meant. She had a feeling it was going to mean jackass. Ennis itself was a darling little town.

Her driver (by name of Derry Maguire, in fact) was so sweet to tell her all he could as they drove. It seemed Ennis was the county town of Claire, making it somewhat like a capital would be in the states. Derry remarked, "The Irish name of Ennis is short for _Inis Cluana Rámhfhada."_ (*2)

The thing she noted most, besides the adorable architecture that felt old even as it felt modern somehow, was that the town was so clean. She remarked on it as he turned down a street and Claire was given an earful of a beautiful street band regaling a crowd with their tunes. "Ah, yeah, Ennis is beautiful. She often wins Tidy Town awards for it."

As they passed out of the city streets, they were once more in the rolling country. Claire admired it as the lorry shimmied along cobbled roads and finally onto dirt ones. They passed a man walking two cows, a woman carrying a basket while her children laughed, and paused to let a herd of sheep meander over the rutted road.

It felt a bit like stepping back in time, honestly, and Claire had to admire it as they moved.

The last month had been a nightmare, if she was being honest, so a break from it all was welcome. The rolling green hills and the lovely skies took her mind off the misery she was mired in. She'd been married to Piers for a handful of months. Nothing really.

There was the age difference – with him being eight years her junior, the secret of the relationship itself which she still hadn't revealed fully to her own brother, and the whirlwind romance of it with little time in between to acknowledge that, although they'd been talking and flirting for three years – they'd spent so little time together.

And now he was dead.

He was dead, and she was pregnant.

She was thirty-four, her twenty-six-year-old husband had died saving her brother, and she was pregnant with her first child and alone. She was alone.

Because she'd pushed Piers so hard to protect Chris that he'd died doing it.

Claire sighed, staring out into the rolling clouds. That was the biggest part of it, for her. It was the guilt. The guilt kept her up at night. The guilt and the hurt and the loss and the regret. She'd wanted him forever, and had him for so little time.

It seemed impossible for her to reconcile that with knowing she'd pushed so hard at him to protect Chris.

The smell of the sea drew her attention. She stared out her window as the lorry rolled to a step beside a beautiful old pub. Derry smiled and cocked his cap at her, "There we are indeed. Doolin(*6). She's a right smaller than most of the other towns, but the view? It's priceless. If you're feeling adventurous, head down to the Cliffs of Moher. There's nothing quite like them in the world, I imagine."

Claire smiled and offered him a tip. He scoffed, patted her hands, and wouldn't take it, declaring, "You keep that for the fairies, Claire. I'd be watchin for them as the sun sets, for there's nothin they love more then a new face and old blood."

Such a fascinating culture. Claire gathered her little bag and moved toward the building, appreciating the beauty of the tiny town. It was tucked together so sweetly with houses in colors that caught the eye and brightened the sky that hung gray and lovely behind them. Pinks, hued oranges, sharp whites and reds - all lent color to what might have felt dreary on a day that looked like rain but offered none.

She was swiftly discovering the weather in Ireland was lukewarm at best. It was summer in the isles, and yet it was a comfortable seventy degrees. In fact, many had little jackets on as they moved about their day. Claire felt under dressed in her summery blouse that was a good buttery yellow. It was tucked into skinny jeans and calf high camel brown boots. From the waist up, she was chilly. From the waist down, she was perfect.

The story of her life, she mused, to be half prepared.

With a small smile, Claire tucked into the pub, chuckling at the name: **The Doolin Pints**. A pun. A ridiculously clever little play on words to highlight the area and the purpose of the establishment.

Inside, the first smell that pleased her was lemon. It smelled like lemongrass or something inside. It was a good smell mixed with the familiar yeasty scent of good beer from the tap. The bar ran the length of the floor, offering a view into a small office beyond and the galley kitchen. The little booths tucked around in the pretty corners were cloaked in dark brown leather, cracked and lovely with age. There was a small raised stage to one side with the view of the fireplace beyond it. It wasn't lit, but the fire was laid for later in it. She sniffed, and smelled the peat there, smiling. Peat was Ireland's answer to burning wood. It was turf, for lack of a better word, and harvested to turn into briquettes for burning.

Claire moved to the bar and chose a stool, settling on it to listen to the laughter of the three men at the end of it. One looked to be older than the hills around them, and was missing most of his teeth. He was cackling and telling a story about a man who'd tried to out smart the wee folk.

When the story ended with the man turning into one himself, Claire chuckled. It drew the attention of the old man and his two younger companions. They both wore jaunty little caps on their heads like Derry, telling her they were likely farmers or the like, and there during a lull for a pint. The first one grinned widely, the second giving her a once over. The old man remarked, "Well and there's a lass with skin like the milk of faeries herself. What brings ya to Doolin, lass?"

Claire smiled, shaking her head, "Honestly? I don't even know myself. It was a snap decision."

The younger of the other two men nodded, "It often is for Yanks. Yeh turn up lookin for an answer to a question you've not yet asked."

The old man mused, "Perhaps it were the wee folk callin."

Claire laughed again, "I'm sorry. I'm not sure I believe in things like that."

They gave her knowing expressions. Their looks were so indulgent, as if she were adorable. The other one said, "That's alright, darlin, to be sure. The wee folk don't need yeh believin in them, yeh know. They believe in you."

Claire smiled, charmed by their accents anyway. "Is that so?"

The old man nodded again, " They are members of the_ Tuatha Dé Danann_ (*3) who invaded Ireland and were banished to live under ground. Yeh be better knowin them as faeries...or Sidhe (*4)."

The younger one informed her, "You'd be knowin about the Sidhe, lass, surely. As your hairs as red as the fairies."

The old man nodded, looking pensive, "Aye. You have week folk in yeh."

She couldn't help, Claire just laughed. "Well...my mother was a local before she met my father and moved over seas."

They all nodded, making AHHHH sounds, as if it all explained the world somehow. The old man nodded again and gestured with his head, "Go on then, tell us her name. I'll be directin yeh to where yeh can find yer kin, I promise yeh."

Claire glanced around to see if the bartender was ever going to show up so she could get some fizzy water, but he appeared M.I.A. Instead, she sighed and remarked, "Her name was Brody. Siobhan(*5) Brody."

And the old man laughed, loudly, "The cousin of the right biggest eejit that ever walked the lands!"

One of the other men burst out scoffing, "Ennis McDougall! What a maggot!"

The third one shook his head, looking angry, "Stole me favorite cock and put it in a stew pot, he did! Claimed it was "his by rights" as it was on his fecking land."

The old man chuckled, "He was a right arse he was, the bollix."

Claire sighed, shaking her head, "So I've heard. I'm actually hoping someone can point me toward Molly O'Shea? She's handling the estate I guess since he passed away."

The angry man with the stolen chicken mused, "It's back to hell, he went, lass, I promise yeh."

Yikes. Claire kept her face calm, but she was laughing inside. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. Ennis was as useless as he were ugly."

She shook her head, picking up her suitcase. "Well, maybe I can just go take a look at the scary state of his house then."

"I warn yeh, it were a right mess when last I saw it. He was a feckin gobshite, there's the truth."

Claire laughed, unable to hold it in. "I believe you. Everyone I talk to says he was a real waste of space."

The old man rolled his wrist, waving away the other two's pissing and moaning. "If you're looking for Molly, lass, yeh best head over and passed The Village Shoppe...it's the local chemist. Yeh can't miss it. It's orange as a parking cone, it is. Just head passed that and up the hill there. Molly's place near the Standing Stones."

Claire nodded, sliding to the floor and bending to pick up her bag. "Great. Thank you so much. I'm not sure who the bartender is here, but the service could use some work, huh?"

"It could. But I was always better with a gun than with being punctual."

She nearly dropped the suitcase back on the ground as she rose. The smile split over her face, unbidden, "...you've got to be kidding me."

"Fraid not. The pubs a pun, sweetheart, not a joke."

He came around the bar in a sweater the color of good oatmeal and jeans faded and old. The scuffed brown boots were comfortable and lazy. The hair? It was classic. She hadn't seen him since Harvardville. How long had it been now? Nearly ten years, if her math was right. They still spoke. They still emailed.

But she hadn't laid eyes on Leon Kennedy in almost a decade.

He was blonder than she remembered. The hair looked light and soft where it effortlessly scooped his perfect jaw. He fit here, she realized, with the wild celtic blue of his eyes and the name. Kennedy - of course he was Irish. What else could he be?

Claire laughed and embraced him, feeling something she hadn't felt in a long time now. What was it? He picked her up to hug her, her feet dangled, and she knew what it was. Home. Like Chris, when she saw Leon, something always felt like home. It could be a thousand years between seeing each other, and it would still feel like that.

She'd always been so comfortable with him.

He set her down, grinning, "You look like a million bucks, Redfield."

She shook her head, rubbing his arms. "What are you _doing_ here!?"

His arm hooked over her shoulders and his other one picked up her bag, "Let's take a walk, kid, and I'll tell you a tall tale."

As they left the bar, the old man mused, "Two Yanks in Doolin...must be the work of the wee folk." And so the argument began again. It would seem, for those in Doolin, the wee folk were really responsible for everything.

Claire looped her arm around his waist as they walked. The adorable little village just got better as you walked. People milled and laughed. Stores offered tiny little open doorways for you to enter and browse their wares.

But none of it was as good as finding him here. She was suddenly both off to find her next meaning in the world, and holding firm to what she'd left behind. It was an interesting place to be. She didn't feel alone anymore, and she was grateful to know it.

He was talking about what had brought him to the Emerald Isle. "I needed the furlough, trust me. I just..." He paused, shaking his head, "Enough was enough."

He was talking about Simmons and Tall Oaks and the death of the President. It was awful. It was unconscionable. It was insane. She'd lost Piers...he'd lost seventy thousand people before it was done.

Claire answered, quietly, "I know. I'm sorry for it. I can't even imagine what it feels like."

He squeezed her shoulders a little and kissed her temple. "Sure you can. Besides...it's nothing next to what happened with you." They paused at the curl in the road that would lead them to Molly O'Shea's, "You didn't invite me to the wedding."

The moment was a strange one. She felt the crush of something that she'd been keeping at bay for so long. It stole her breath and she whispered, "I didn't invite anyone. Not a soul. It was...impulsive. It was stupid and young and brash. It was...and now...and I just..." She trailed off and shook her head.

He pulled her in to hug her and her arms wrapped around his waist. She put her face against the soft weave of that sweater, hiding. His chin dropped to rest on the top of her head and Leon mused, "Not stupid, Claire. Taking your happiness where you can? That's not stupid...it's brave."

Yeah. He'd always gotten her. Always. Maybe better than her brother. Maybe better than anyone.

Claired rasped, "I want him back."

And broke his heart to hear the pain of it. Leon nodded, rubbing her back gently, "I know. It's the one thing I can't do for you. I'm so sorry."

She clung, hands digging, and then she let go, centering herself. She took two deep breaths and closed her eyes, fighting down the grief. She'd had enough of that. It was enough of it. She was here to move on, not hold on to the pain. She had to stop letting it rock her.

She had to start saying goodbye.

His big hand cupped the side of her face, gently turning it up to him. "You got this, kid. And whatever you don't got? I do."

Claire laughed, shakily, and patted his hand. He dropped it and they moved down the path again together. "Thank you, Leon. I mean it."

"Sure. We're both here. There's a reason for that, right? Gotta be fate or something."

She nodded and shrugged, "Maybe. Or just shitty luck that pushed us both out of our lives and into new ones."

Leon shrugged himself, chuckling, "Maybe. But I wasn't courting a happy ever after, kid. I was just plodding along from one pain to the next. Doesn't make for much I'm missing back there. Here? I have the pub, courtesy of my shitty father who didn't do much in life but drink and bed hop, but luckily one of those whores he was banging squeezed out a baby -_moi- _so we're grateful for that anyway."

Claire gave him a sympathetic look and he shook his head, "Don't feel sorry for me. I grew up fine. Foster homes and feeling lonely was better than a father who was half scoundrel, half drunk. Besides, he died and left that place to me. I feel more at home here than I ever felt in America."

Surprised, she lifted her brows, "Really?"

"Oh, yeah. They were thrilled when I showed up. They needed a constable, and I fit the bill. So I do that when I'm not at the bar. No one judges me here. Sure, they think I'm a Yank with more mouth than brains, but I'm Irish to them - of extraction. And the old man was a popular guy here. They liked him...unlike Ennis McDougall."

He laughed. Claire did as well, "No kidding. I'm kin to the most hated man in Doolin."

"Fraid so. Good news is, the Brody side of your family was well liked. So you're still in good standing there. And Molly O'Shea? The most wonderful woman ever conceived. If I wasn't fairly sure she'd shoot me down, I'd ask her to marry me."

Claire smirked, rolling her eyes, "You're an easy sell, Kennedy. Always have been."

"It's the potatoes, Claire. I need them. I can't help it. I need them."

She one armed hugged him as they walked. "I missed you, Kennedy. Maybe too much."

"Same. As always. Same. The question remains if I missed you...or your ass more. I can't decide. It's a fine hiney it is, Claire. To be sure."

She chuckled, accepting the harmless flirting. It made her feel good to have him do it. It felt natural. He was a shameless lech. He'd never met a woman he didn't hit on. And his Irish accent? Incredibly charming.

She grinned at him, "You sound like a native, Mr. Kennedy."

Hers? Awful. But she wasn't trained to speak eleven thousand languages. So she gave herself a break. "You sound like a Yank, Claire Redfield."

She smiled, shaking her head, "What are we doing here, Leon?"

"Living, I think. You need anything at all, Claire, you come find me." He gestured with his head, "That's Molly's just up the rise there. You want me to tag along?"

She hesitated, took two steps and shook her head no, "I can do this part, I think...but..." She paused and considered and added, "You want to come by Ennis McDougall's house later? I have a feeling I might need some help renovating it. It's apparently a disaster."

Leon winked at her, "As the lady wishes, so shall it be. Seven?"

She nodded, watching him wander back to the village, "Leon?"

He turned to look at her, pacing backward, "Claire?"

"How much Irish do you have in you?"

He laughed, eyes twinkling, "At the moment? None. But I've got more than a little Scotch in me, I can promise you that."

Claire shook her head, happy to hear the bad humor again. If there was nothing else, his horrible joking would take her mind off things. "It seems I have a little greek in me."

He tilted his head, looking at her, "From the plane?"

"...nope...from the husband." She waited, watching him. He froze, blinked, and arched his brows - and he got it.

"...damn. You growing a parasite, Claire Redfield?"

She felt her eyes tear up and lifted her hands in a defeated gesture, "So they say. Maybe I'm growing a wee folk."

He smiled, watching her, and his sympathetic face nearly killed her. She shook her head, swiping her hand at the one stubborn tear that tried to fall. "Don't. I'm ok. I'll be ok. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like the sad little girl with the dead husband and the baby in her belly. Like I'm some weak little thing that's going to break down and fall apart. I..." She shook her head, denying the pain, "I'm fine. I'm not pathetic."

His look was cool now, and strong, "I think you're sad. I think your husband is dead. But I don't see pathetic. You're the strongest woman I know, Claire. It's ok to hurt. It doesn't make you weak. You know that."

She laughed, wetly, "Right. Tell my brother that."

"I don't need to. He raised you. Chances are, all the good things in him? He learned from you."

Damn.

She blinked, shaking her head, "...you're a sneaky thing, Leon Kennedy."

"I have my moments." He paused, watching her in the dying sun, "I'll bring paint samples. For your nursery."

She nodded, taking a shaky breath, "Right...thank you. It's...I'm glad to see you, Leon."

"Claire Redfield - I wish we could find each other when the world wasn't falling apart. But I can't be sorry you're here." He winked at her and turned back to the path, "Call if you need anything."

She wouldn't. He knew that. After all, she was the strongest woman, without a doubt...and she was also the most stubborn one in the world.

Claire faced the house on the rise - and felt a bit like the girl who'd once road her motorcycle into a burning city. She didn't know what waited for her, but the only way to get there was to take that first trembling step.

* * *

**(*1) **_Dochas (DOE-Hass) -Hope_

_(*2) Inis Cluana Rámhfhada -_ "island of the long rowing meadow"."

_(*3) Tuatha De Danann (Too-ah Day Don-an) - _In the Mythological Cycle of Irish Mythology the Tuatha Dé Danann lived in the other-world and were a magical race who became known as the Sidhe Faerie Folk in Irish folklore

(*4) Sidhe (She)- Fairy folk

(*5) Siobhan (Shih-vawn).

(*6) Doolin - Want to see Doolin? Play Folklore on the PS3. It's a rad little game that didn't get much attention back in the day. I stole the town from there. Probably because it's my ideal place to retire and die when I'm old. Also, we'll have us a little murder mystery as well while Claire starts her journey in Doolin.

* * *

**A/N: **_A quick note to my readers: This could be a slow burn on the Cleon. It's really about Claire finding herself. Leon is her friend here. And he is, as I always write him, quirky, punny, and charming and good for her. Eventually, they'll find their way to each other. If you've ever read anything else of mine (Absolution especially) you know that I'm a big believer in the ability to find your way through any tragedy with hope and strength. And I'm also a big believer that love can sometimes take a lifetime to grow or it can happen in a minute. So this story is that. It's Claire, who is the strongest woman in the series in my opinion, looking to herself and her past to push her through her own grief. If that's not for you, that's ok, but that's what this story is. It's a story of what pushes us to keep going, even when we feel like we'd rather just give up. Thank you for reading. Please see the bottom of each chapter for relevant explanations or notes._


	3. Chapter 3

**Saoirse :**

**The Drive Within**

**_Chapter Two:_**

**_Teaghlach(*1)_**

* * *

_Bless you and yours_  
_As well as the cottage you live in._  
_May the roof overhead be well thatched_  
_And those inside be well matched._

Irish Blessing

* * *

On the top of the hill, the little house that held Molly O'Shea was adorable. It sent plumes of smoke into the sky in happy curls. It offered a clothesline stretched thin and pretty over the jewel green grass as you walked.

There was a smoke gray cat lying on the little porch watching Claire as she crossed the yard to knock, but she really needn't have bothered. The door opened to show a beautiful woman with flour on her nose in a pretty apron dotted with tiny roosters. She laughed, delighted, and Claire put a hand to her chest as it struck, like an arrow, and hummed in her chest. This woman was her mother.

But she wasn't. She was her aunt.

But she was her _mother. _The red hair in the lazy bun, more Titian than the mermaid red of Claires, curled over her swanlike neck and wisped around her gorgeous face. She had eyes the color of the grass where they stood, gazing at each other, and skin as pale as the petal of a white rose. Claire couldn't do anything but stare at her, seeing her mother the morning she'd left and never came back.

Molly finally spoke, delighting Claire with her accent, "Oh, Claire Redfield, it's half me life I've been waitin to meet yeh. I'm so happy you've come."

Claire couldn't find the words she wanted. She shook her head and Molly filled the silence, "Your mother was me twin, darlin, that's why you look like you've seen a ghost."

Claire felt her face crack on the smile lodged there. Her eyes filled with tears and Molly added, in her mother's voice, "There's a lass. Let it out now. I'm right here."

Claire whispered, "...I want my Mama."

She was thirty-four, and looking for someone to hold her, hum to her, and take away her pain.

Molly cooed, "Aye, ya do, my sweet girl. She's here with yeh. Yeh just need to let her in."

And so a stranger with her mother's face held her close while she finally let go, and wept until she was empty for the first time since her world had fallen apart.

* * *

Molly O'Shea liked to talk. She did so without pausing. She talked about Siobhan and the yank that married her and took her away. She talked about seeing them as "babes" when she came to visit. Claire was their surprise baby. Having thought they were barren after Chris was born, her parents had given up on having another baby.

It's why he was so much older than her. They hadn't expected her arrival at all. In fact, Molly told her, Siobhan had often called Claire her "rainbow" baby, as she came after three miscarriages. Molly smiled and patted her hand while she plied Claire with tea and biscuits and delicious hearth-baked soda bread. She mused, "You were her gift, you were, Claire. It's best you remember that when you're feeling lost in the world."

Claire felt better post weeping. She'd purged the pain for the moment, letting loose the storm she'd kept in since she'd buried her husband. Although there'd been nothing to bury. Whatever was left of him remained in that oil tanker beneath the sea. They'd gone back, according to Chris, to try to find anything - but the explosion of the B.O.W. had taken what was left of the burning mess and left it in pieces. If there was anything left of her husband, he'd floated away into the ocean somewhere to hopefully find peace.

So she'd buried nothing in the grave the B.S.A.A. had set up for him. She'd buried the memory of him and had nothing to mourn. She'd stood in the warm humidity and said goodbye to empty space. There was nothing cathartic there.

There was nothing to take away from it.

Chris was a wreck. He was nearly killed himself. They'd pulled him from wreckage riddled in bullets, slashed to ribbons, bleeding and dying. She'd spent the first weeks after it all, thinking she might lose her brother too.

But he'd pulled through. When she'd left to go to Ireland, he was still without the use of his left arm. It was a long road for him. He'd thrown it in front of the thing that had killed Piers. His report said Piers had lost his arm, and Chris had nearly done the same. She knew he'd show up eventually. When he was ready.

She never would have left him, but he'd pushed her to go. He wouldn't let her "rot with him in this hellhole". She knew he'd recover quicker if he wasn't worried about disappointing her, so she'd left.

She'd read the reports. She knew the stories. She knew it was the doppelganger of Ada Wong that was to be blamed. She knew that the convoluted history of Wong and Leon was longer than she wanted to think of. She knew that Leon had survived in China by the skin of his teeth as well.

There were rumors that Simmons had nearly gutted him before it was done. One report said he'd nearly thirty-six stitches to close up his back and chest. Apparently, he'd been gored during the final battle. Helena Harper was on record as saying the lightning rod they'd used to kill Simmons kept collapsing the corpses they attempted to use. The rot had caused too much degeneration of the skeletal structure to support the weight.

Faced with the mutated Simmons destroying the rest of Tatchi, Leon Kennedy had used his own body to end it. He'd impaled himself on the lightning rod and let Simmons snatch him. During the moment of impact, he'd cut himself off the rod and rolled away. The lightning had finished it before Helena Harper had sent Simmons to the beyond with that rocket launcher, but the damage was done.

By the time Leon landed on the roof via the helicopter he'd flown, he was nearly dead. He'd been swept off to be put back together. Claire had read that he'd impaled himself through the lower quadrant of his chest, attempting to avoid the lungs and the heart. He was right on the anatomy, but he'd underestimated the removal. It had torn like a zipper out his side as he'd freed himself.

She was curious what she'd find under that oatmeal sweater he wore so effortlessly. Of all of them, Leon had always been the most reserved. Where they'd go all out on Halloween - from Chris' hilarious take on a samurai to her slutty cowgirl (worn entirely to make Piers laugh) - it had always been a show and tell of tattoos and scars...but not Leon. Leon, with that face that made girls giggle, never flashed skin. He was like a Victorian lady or something, it was almost a running joke in the right circle. Of all of them, Leon was the only one to never bother. (*2)

The natural question was: What was he hiding under there?

She knew what she was hiding. Under the mantle of bad ass she wore, only four people in the whole world had ever seen the real her. Her brother, her husband, and Leon Kennedy...and now, apparently, Molly O'Shea.

Molly got her talking easily enough. They talked about Siobhan and her faith. She'd raised Claire to "walk in light" and "find her inner goddess". Claire had spent a greater portion of her youth believing that real power came from within and that you had to manifest your own destiny. That inner power had seen her through Raccoon City like a Valkyrie. She'd often wondered if her mother had been with her that night, guiding her when she was nearly lost. She knew, for a fact, the knowledge of herbs her mother had instilled in her had saved her life and Leon's that night.

She knew how to use a poultice to stop bleeding, to halt inflammation, to draw out infection and poison. When she'd found Leon fevered and shot, she'd known how to care for him. She'd been able to pull out her little fanny pack full of herbs and make sure he didn't die of gangrene.

Siobhan, Molly told her, was what was known as a Hedge Witch. Claire queried, "A Hedge Witch?"

Molly laughed, offering her another biscuit. It felt, vaguely, like the other woman was trying to fatten her up. She remarked, "There's no real consensus on what a hedge witch is. To be sure, it's a solitary one. In the 'olden days', a hedge usually symbolized a border between two neighboring villages. And so it is with a Hedge Witch – she can see beyond 'the border' and perceive messages from the Other World that exists beyond our physical perception and senses. Your mother knew things, Claire, and shared her truth with those who asked. She saw Jack long before he arrived on her doorstep, I'll tell yeh that."

Claire considered this as she sipped her tea. Did Siobhan see her own death? Or was it vaguer than that? Was it premonitions?

A cool chill spilled down her spine. She'd had one, the day the letter had arrived to tell her that Piers was lost. She'd had a moment when she'd stepped out of the shower and saw his face in the foggy mirror...but it hadn't been his face. It had been half monster, half man. A bulging eye in a sea of scars. A tilted mouth teeming with exposed tissue. She'd blinked, and it was gone.

But the letter was in the mailbox. The damage was done. He'd died after the C-Virus had invaded his body to give him the power to protect Chris. Had he appeared in that mirror to say goodbye? Was he...crossing over?

Shaking her head, Claire laughed, "I'm sorry. I just...I'm not able to believe stuff like this."

Molly nodded, smiling lightly, "It's not the easiest of thing to accept. But think on this, Claire, what is it that drew you here? Of all the places in the world you could've gone to grieve your husband and take back your life...yeh came here. Why?"

Claire didn't have the answer for the that. She only knew that something in her belly had told her this was where she needed to be. Not with Chris in the hospital. Not with Piers in the grave. Not with Piers' family in the States.

Here. A place where there was no one.

No...a place where was history. Hers. Her mother's. Her family's.

And Leon Kennedy.

Was it fate that had brought him into her life that night in Raccoon City? To become her guiding force when things were darkest? Was it their purpose to pull the other through when things were impossible?

Raccoon. Harvardville - when she'd almost given up with the knowledge she'd gotten all those people killed by stalling the T-Virus vaccine. Here- when he was healing the loss of a man who'd been like a father to her, and she was grieving the only man she'd ever loved.

He'd sent Chris to her on Rockfort Island. She'd sent the B.S.A.A. to the E.S.R. to extract him when his own government had declared him disavowed. He'd been on the rescue chopper that had found her after Sushestvovanie Island. She'd helped Ingrid Hunnigan bury the truth of death so he could chase Simmons in China. They were entangled in each other's lives. They were there when the other one needed pulling out of the dark.

Was there something about their friendship that was meant to give her hope in her greatest time of need?

She only knew that she didn't feel like she was buried in the hopeless loss here, close to him. In Harvardville, he'd talked her down from the ledge when she'd nearly given up the fight. She'd carried that blame like a blanket around her shoulders. Leon? He'd ripped that blanket off her and pulled her back into the fight.

* * *

_"You chose the path of healer, Claire, it's a path your brother and I can't walk."_

_She turned her eyes to his face and he added, "You weren't wrong. Keep getting up, Claire. Keep helping. Keep holding on for those who can't. Help me, and I will scrub this virus from the face of the Earth."_

_She'd felt the shiver of determination in her guts. "Leon...thank you."_

* * *

Leon had a way of rallying you back to the battle. He was always good at boosting morale. Being around him worked like a pep rally for the soul.

She considered that as she toured Ennis McDougall's horrible house with Molly. Her aunt sighed, drastically, and said, "I did a bit of cleanin but, as you can see, Ennis was a right gobshitte about up keep."

The thing had a sagging roof and leaking floorboards. The walls were cracked and needed plaster. The plumbing was half ripped out of the wall in the kitchen. It wasn't a "fixer upper". Oh no. It was a "lost cause." But Claire rolled up her sleeves anyway.

She shrugged, laughing lightly. "I've seen worse."

Molly gave her a wink and approving nod. "There's a girl. We'll turn this turd to a treasure together then."

They had a bucket full of cleaning supplies, a little Bluetooth speaker for Claire's phone, and the spirit of a thousand women that had come before them. It was just dirt and nails that needed to be taken care of here. Claire had never met a house she couldn't renovate.

She paused, considering that, and realized it was easier to throw herself into fixing this house than it was into fixing herself. But you know what? She mused quietly, One shitty problem at a time.

Claire mused, "You know anything demoing drywall?"

From behind her, the voice teased, "I know a thing or two about tearing down walls."

She glanced back at Leon. He'd simply walked on in, as was the way of things here. He had an enormous sledgehammer in one hand, and a basket in the other. She cocked her head and he laughed, "Food. Gotta eat right?"

Molly moved to kiss him, "Well, look at you, you handsome devil. What's been keepin yeh?"

"Seamus and Riley were fighting again. I had to put them in separate cells this time to sober up and cool down."

Molly laughed, shaking her head. She told Claire, "Two hotter headed eejits you'll never meet, Claire. And always fighting over the same lass. She can't be picking atween them, it seems, and so they're always having a row."

Leon moved to slide his hand along one of the bowed walls, looking pensive. Claire watched his mind work as he guided his eyes over the ceiling and back to the other wall, and added, "Harmless, is what they are. But stupid. Just need to cool off and they'll be pals again."

He nodded as if he'd come to some conclusion he'd been considering, and scooped a small elastic band off his wrist. He tugged his shaggy hair back and secured it out of his face, rolling his neck. He shed the oatmeal colored sweater and left himself in a white thermal beneath.

Molly mused, "You know what you're doing then, Mr. Kennedy?"

He picked up the sledgehammer and gestured with his head, "I do. Claire?"

She moved over beside him and he gestured with his head again. Shrugging, she stepped under his arm and hefted the sledgehammer. She smiled as she helped her lift it, supporting her wrists. "I can swing it, Leon. Honestly."

He winked at her and replied, "Maybe. But you're swinging for two now. Maybe we put my mind at ease and let me take the heavy stuff. What do you say?"

She laughed and shrugged. "Together then?"

"Together." He turned his head to look at her. She was always crucially aware of how incredible his face was when you took the hair away. The shaggy Keith Urban mop he'd been sporting was something in itself. But when you took it away, you got to see the bone structure under it. All sharp angles and cleft chin, it was a good face. It wasn't one you forgot. He smirked, "You ready to tear down this house of cards, kid?"

Was she?

Apparently, starting over meant tearing down what was left of what had stood before. Maybe they'd find under the ugly facade, a thing of beauty waited for them to build.

She wasn't alone. She had her family around her. She had her friend beside her.

She wasn't alone.

They were going to tear it down and rebuild it; together.

So, she shrugged, "Let's let this ugly bastard have it."

He laughed too, supporting her arms as she rolled up to swing the heavy sledgehammer, and he called, "Game over."

And she couldn't stop the laugh as the sledgehammer hit the wall, the rotten thing collapsed like Birkin with a face full of rocket, and they started pulling down the mess of her life - together.

* * *

**(*1) Teaghlach**_ (chye-lukh) -Family_

_(*2) Leon Kennedy remains the only character to not remove clothing in his costumes. We have no clue what's under those clothes. A curious thing, for Capcom's "sex symbol" hero._


	4. Chapter 4

**Saoirse :**

**The Drive Within**

**_Chapter Three:_**

**_Leighis __(*1)_**

* * *

_May your joys be as bright as the morning,_

_and your sorrows merely be shadows that fade in the sunlight of love._

**Irish Blessing**

* * *

The great green sea stretched in a frothy wave over the craggy cushion of crushed rock and stone. Claire picked her way gingerly over the broken crevices, avoiding losing her balance in a way that had always irritated her gangling brother. Young, Chris had been skinny and clumsy. Now? He was huge and clumsy.

So, he'd always been jealous of Claire's grace.

She wished he'd get his head out of his ass and come see her, but it wasn't easy when the world was on your shoulders. Chris would always be a man for whom the fight just naturally came first. She mourned and missed more than Piers daily; often times it was Chris in her heart without hope of healing. He'd drifted so far away, she missed the face of the boy who'd used to be her best friend and then her shield against the world.

Of course, he'd raised her to shield herself, so although she loved him...she didn't need him to protect her anymore. It didn't stop the want of his company though, and that's what motivated her on the fine cold morning where she found herself picking through herbs to begin building her own apothecary. From the shelf of stone above her, Molly called down, "The heather, Claire! The heather and the lichen near your ankles!"

Right.

She'd come down for something specific.

Ducking, Claire extracted the plants she needed. Molly had insisted on braiding her hair that morning, reminding Claire of the years her mother spent reminding her that hair was a gift and was best treated like one. She'd rinsed the red of Claire's mane in lemon and vinegar to cleanse it and often treated the whole with a homemade conditioner that smelled like lavender.

It was still hard to watch the sun on a face that she'd mourned for a lifetime, but Molly made it hard to be sad in her presence. She was boisterous by nature, and engagingly sincere. She laughed with her whole body and cooked until Claire felt fat and content. When she was feeling particularly lost, Claire found herself at the Doolin Pints enjoying the company of strangers.

She was rapidly learning that the small town didn't know a secret that wasn't worth repeating. They gossiped and wagged tongues at everyone. The old folks were the worst, often remarking about who was "having another bairn they couldn't feed" and who was "skirting behind the unwilling back of their poor love." She discovered Derry McKeen was the worst of the bunch, breaking his faith to put babies in the bellies of at least three girls in town.

Apparently, according to Molly, his mother had boxed the ears right off his head for the mess of it.

The interesting thing? She didn't hear anything about Leon skirting with anyone. He was a bit of a flirt, so to find him celibate in a land of beautiful and eager young things was interesting. She'd questioned him one day while they were enjoying a walk.

He'd laughed and mused, "Me and a virgin...a _catholic _virgin no less. You know what they do to men who soil the sweetness of their girls here, Redfield?" He lifted his hands and mimed shooting himself.

She laughed, "...please...there's no violence like that."

"Oh, not violence, my darling...not even close...I'm speaking of a shotgun wedding. You wed them if you bed them in Ireland, kid. So beware the idea of casual sex. It died out long before the great potato famine."

She laughed again. Her arm looped through his as they walked. He wouldn't let her dwell, her old friend, he was good at bringing her out of her funk. The renovations of her house were going as fast as possible. She had a local father and daughter team working on it with her. Contractors by trade, they were never afraid to work long days and get the job done.

Brianna, the girl, was there now putting up sheet rock with a few local helpers. She was small but mighty, barely topping at five feet with hair as long as her hips that she kept pinned up in beautiful red gold ringlets. The beautiful blue of her eyes were hidden by the glasses on her pert nose. She waved as Molly and Claire came upon the gutted house, smiling happily, "We've gotten the walls in now, to be sure, Claire. You'll have a home by weeks end, mark me words."

Claire waved back and Molly mused, "Tis a bit of a wild one, that girl. She's been known to sniff where her sweet tipped nose gets into trouble. I hear she's been chasing after our Mr. Kennedy, it seems."

Claire smirked and sighed, "Doesn't surprise me. Leon tends to bring attention."

Molly arched her brows, "Was that jealousy in your tone, lass?"

Claire chuckled, "Never. It was never like that. He's not for me. He never was. We might have once, but life had other plans. Leon isn't a guy you chase...you yearn a little, I think...but you don't chase him. He's not the type you can catch."

Molly looked contemplative as Claire went up the hill toward her house. She tapped her finger on her lips and murmured to herself, "...hmmm...not the type to catch...but perhaps the type to fall?"

She'd be in the world long enough to recognize a good thing when she saw it. She wondered, if and when Claire was ready, she'd see if herself. All she knew for now was that Claire was in need of some healing. However she chose to find that, there was never a wrong choice for letting go.

* * *

_The soft press of lips left her a little breathless. Her hands trembled as they lifted to cup his face. She shook her head, but the words came anyway, "...I'm too old for you."_

_He pressed her against the wall while she simply opened her mouth to touch of his tongue with hers. Age - it plagued her about him. It was so taboo to be the older woman. If she were the man, this story would be different somehow. If she were Leon and Piers ten years her junior, no one would blink, no one would care, no one would notice. The double standard of their ages, if they did this, would plague them both forever._

_His hands skimmed buttons. Her breath hitched and she offered, once more, "...Piers...people might t-"_

_He tilted her face up to him and grumbled, "People? Forget people...forget everyone but me. I've dreamed of you, Claire..of this...and us...forget anything but me..."_

_They kissed wetly. Her heart hammered. She knew it was a risk for him too. If Chris discovered, he'd go ballistic. His men weren't even allowed to sniff around her, let alone touch her. She'd obeyed and never flirted. She'd never looked. She was risking things here and now, they both were. Maybe it was time to just make the risk worth the cost._

_Without another word, her hands jerked at his shirt. The buttons scattered and pinged around the room. He grunted, she pasted the feeling of his ridiculous stomach with her hands and pushed them into his pants to grip his ass. With a chuckle against her mouth, he invited, "...there's my girl."_

_He carried her to bed. He stripped her, he stroked her, he stoked and seduced her. The feel and taste and pleasure of him left her breathless. It wasn't just that he was gorgeous, it wasn't that he was almost forbidden, it was that somehow, someway, in some fashion...he'd wormed into her blood. When she watched him between her thighs, sinking into her while she arched to take him, she knew it wasn't just sex._

_It might have been, once, if they'd met and fucked and forgotten, but he wasn't a man you fucked and forgot. He kissed her while he plunged into her. The perfect press of his fan of lashes on those gorgeous cheeks told the story of gods on mountains with lightning bolts. He was the lightning bolt between her thighs and into her heart._

_Claire knew she'd never be able to feel anything else but him again._

* * *

She awoke sweaty, tangled in sheets. Her cheeks were wet with tears. Hands gripping her face, Claire shook herself while the dream subsided. It was getting worse. She'd been trying for months now to just let go of him.

Her hand traveled down to skim the soft bump of her belly. It had gotten worse when she'd started to show. There was no more pretending it was just a nightmare. She was pregnant, her husband was dead, and she couldn't get away from his ghost that haunted her dreams.

Her hand traveled down to touch between her legs. Wet. She was wet and ready. She was swollen and ripe. She hated this goddamn influx of hormones even as she coveted the baby in her belly with love. She was ungodly horny and ungodly sad and just trying to make sense out of nothing.

She laid against the pillows and stroked herself. Her hips humped against her fingers. It felt good. It always felt good. She just never finished it. Her body simply refused to orgasm.

Sighing, she curled away to watch the moonlight in the shadows. She was staying with Molly while her house was renovated. She kept hoping someone would renovate her heart, sadly, it was still a wreck.

She dressed in the dark and took herself down to the Doolin Pints to try to gather some kind of ability to relax.

It might have been the same as any other night - with old Tom Shannon and Brody O'Leary arguing about everything on Earth- save for the commotion. The place was packed to the rafters. People were laughing and drinking and dancing.

As she ducked inside, Claire's brows shot up as someone stuffed a beer in her hands and spun her into a dance. She ended up at the bar, winded, but smiling. Beside her, Tom Shannon informed her, "Tis the Hannigan's girl, Brenna. She's come back from university and engaged to a yank, none the less, so her parents be having a _ceili_ to celebrate. Yeh chose a fine night to wander down from your hill, Claire, as there's magic in the air."

A ceili, it seemed, was a raucous and wonderful party. It included everyone from baby to batty old men. It was the town and the village beyond and the county. They all came, they all danced, they all drank. She couldn't find a moment to be anything but entertained.

And then she caught sight of what was happening on the stage.

She'd seen him stand with a knife versus a G-monster. She'd witnessed him blow the top of a zombies head off in the pouring rain. She knew he could dodge lasers, they said, and fist fight lickers (though she was less likely to believe _that). _This was the first time she'd stood there staring in abject surprise.

Because she no idea Leon Kennedy could play guitar and sing like that.

Not like _that._

The music thumped prettily. The band was laughing with delight. He was in a green short sleeve vintage tee with a pickle on the front that read _Just Dill with It. _He had a tattoo up his right forearm that made her pause and tilt her head. It was a word she didn't understand, likely gaelic, and in a pretty scrawl. As he strummed and tapped his foot, she realized it was the first time since Harvardville she'd even seen his arms.

Muscled. He was bigger than she remembered, finely honed in a way that said retired or not, he hadn't slacked on his training. He was handsome in the way that suited that Keith Urban rocker look of his. He looked like he _belonged _on that stage. He sounded like he did too.

_I've been climbing my way through the sky_  
_Searching for answers that I'll never find_  
_Losing my breath as I fall_  
_Learning to fly, letting go of it all_  
_Learning to fly, letting go of it all_

The song was up tempo and encouraging. The lyrics were somehow inspiring. All in all, it was the perfect song for a woman who'd flown a lifetimes worth to start over.

_I'm gonna live  
Like tomorrow never comes  
There's no end in sight  
Tonight we black out the sun  
Better hold on tight  
Before you know it's gone  
And live like tomorrow never comes_

At one point, he caught sight of her and winked. Claire saluted him with the beer she'd never even sipped. She arched a brow and he nodded his head at something. The beer in her hand was replaced with water.

Amused, she whistled to encourage him.

_I've been trying to open my eyes  
Take it all in as the world passes by  
Getting lost in the twists and the turn  
Finding these questions inside me still burn  
Finding these questions inside me still burn_

Her heart hitched a little and she pressed a hand to her chest with a laugh. Damn him. He was always so good at getting to the point. Even his music was like a bullet to the brain in the boiling heat of an inferno of truth.

_I keep looking for some kind of sign_  
_Trying to hold on in this race against time_  
_I can't say where the next bend might be_  
_That is the beauty in life's mystery_  
_That is the beauty in life's mystery_

_I'm gonna live_  
_Like tomorrow never comes_  
_There's no end in sight_  
_Tonight we black out the sun_  
_Better hold on tight_  
_Before you know it's gone_  
_And live like tomorrow never comes_

When the song ended, he set the guitar down, jumped off the stage and moved toward her. Claire said nothing, waited, and let him tug her into hug that was really more a dance. People laughed and murmured, she knew it was going to stir up gossip, and someone was giving her the filthiest look from across the bar. She had no doubt hearts were breaking all over Doolin thinking he was off the market.

It was hard to stop, mid dance, and let them know it was just old friends enjoying the moment.

Into her ear, he invited, "Black out the sun, Redfield...and live like tomorrow never comes."

She shook her head and leaned her cheek against his, accusing, "...you set this up to remind me what I'm here to do, Kennedy?"

"...not the_ ceili_, kiddo...the song? I guess that's all up to how you want to see it."

Claire let him spin her and remarked, "...what if I keep getting lost in the twists and the turns?"

He dipped her and brought her back, eyes bright in the warm bar, "Then you find the answers. You're already on your way. Just listen...they're out there."

She gave him a narrow look and remarked, "...I don't know when you became Mr. Myagi."

He laughed and hugged her. She sighed, arms looping around his waist, and he returned, "Somewhere between the end of the world and the rest of my life, Redfield...it was learn and let go, or hold on and go down in misery. Instead?"

He shrugged. She nodded, inhaling, and finished for him, "You're just here...living."

"You got it. Wanna give it a shot?"

She really, really did. She just wasn't sure how to stop the man in the mirror above the bar from haunting her. She smiled. Piers smiled back in the mirror. She let Leon spin her into another dance.

And she just tried to black out the sun.

Sadly, in the darkness was usually where all the misery was.

It was just a little less sad with an old friend beside her.

* * *

***1 - (lay - heese) **healing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Saoirse :**

**The Drive Within**

**_Chapter Four:_**

_ádh mór_**_(*1)_**

* * *

_"May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest day of your past."_

**Irish Blessing**

* * *

_The snow was tumbling white and perfect beyond the frosty glass. He stood there, ankle deep and carrying a bag nearly as big as he was over a broad shoulder. Her heart hit her breastbone twice before she could bring herself to stop staring._

_Beautiful - she thought as the moonlight and the myriad of white made a playground out of his perfect lashes - he was just beautiful. Was there a word in the English language for how she felt about him? She doubted there'd ever be one that could do it justice._

_Her hands trembled as she opened the door._

_She might have felt the cold if the warmth of his embrace didn't greet her first. The snow might have hurt her bare feet if she didn't fly across it like a winged fairy to hold him. He caught her, the big sack tumbling to the inert ground so he could envelope her in his arms. She pressed kisses against his face until he claimed her mouth._

_He walked her backward into the house and pressed her into the warmth of the wall beside the door. They amorous touches turned desperate. He groped beneath her big t-shirt for her panties. She gathered up his belt and whipped it free of his pants with a woman's determined greed. His hand spent a moment playing in the warm pool of her waiting wetness and she begged, "...Piers."_

_His name was always synonymous with need._

_His hands hiked her up around his hips as he buried himself in the swollen core of her. It completed them both, the high gasp and low grunt of male and female mixing with the crackle of fire laid pretty in her hearth. His thrusts were slow but hard, knocking her back against the wall as each inch of him laid claim to each inch of her. They held eyes, her hands gripping his face and the slow slap of sucking bodies turned into music around them. _

_One more word from her parched lips, "...god."_

_He was that too._

_When the slow pace maddened, she arched faster. When he thundered there inside of her, they finally gave up being gentle. Her back slapped so hard it almost hurt. Her mouth opened on a silent cry. His right hand found her left breast and gripped it, his other holding those hips tilted for his assault. Hard, harder, harder...faster, filthier, far from sweet or soft or loving._

_He fucked her standing like a man who wanted her to cum crying for him._

_She did, whimpering and arching, slapping his face to release the urge to scream. _

_He held her, mouth moving to claim her tears. He licked one from her cheek and made her moan._

_And then he kissed her, came in her, and knew...they both did...that he was home._

* * *

The crying woke her. She wasn't aware that she did that. She didn't know that weeping was almost nightly while she rested. Claire roused with trembling whimper.

He haunted her.

How long would she dwell in a place where her heart refused to heal?

How long would he hang above her and beside her and inside her and never let her say goodbye?

She turned her head on the pillow to find him looking at her. He smiled and his hand touched her cheek. She must have been insane or close to it...because she could _feel it. _She told him, "...I miss you."

His smile was soft. His voice echoed in her ears, "I miss you too, Red. You ever think about what our life would have been like without the fight?"

She trembled on the bed, "...every minute of every day."

His smile slipped and sadness crept in, "-it'll get easier."

Claire felt the grief well up and nearly choke her, "...yeah? When? Why are you still here, Piers?"

His hand lingered and slid down her chest. She felt her heart skip beats and her nipples tighten, but he wasn't groping her. He was showing her. His hand slid against her belly. He leaned close to kiss her forehead and told her, "...I'm still here, Claire. I'm still inside you."

Her eyes opened to find the bed empty and the faintest liner of his scent there where he'd been.

Her hands covered her face as she breathed and the ragged gasp of each inhalation filled the silence of an otherwise empty room.

Gone...but still inside her.

* * *

She took a lunch down by the water the next day to watch the fishing boats come in. The water frothed around their ragged hulls as they brought their wares to the shores of their birth to barter and sale. She watched the laughter, heard the conversation, felt the chill of a breeze off the water. She nibble a sandwich and pictured her bed waiting at home.

She wanted to crawl back into it and sleep.

Why?

She knew why.

When she slept, Piers was waiting.

Her left hand laid across her swollen abdomen. She stroked the soft sweater cover her flesh and insulating her gestating baby. Piers had come from a big family. Greek - he'd brought with him a huge influx of curious characters to her life. She was never alone with his family around.

She'd spent the days after his death swamped in family.

Not hers. Not really. Her family was one man. They shared the same eyes and a love of chocolate covered popcorn. She mourned him almost as much as Piers sometimes as they'd become inextricably linked when he'd finished the job their parent's death had left behind.

He'd raised a girl into a woman.

He was her rock. He was her shield. He was her family.

She thought of him almost as much as her late husband.

Leon helped. Having him there, feeling him close to her, it helped. Leon wasn't a man who let you dwell for too long in your misery. If he was close by, he was with her. He did stupid things to make her laugh. He took her places to break her out of her funk. He simply sat there sometimes and let her mourn.

He was the best friend she'd ever had.

She'd barely spent hours with him before this. She'd always cared for him, but never really knew him. He liked cats - animal. He liked Cats - the Musical- and was likely the only soul alive who did. Poor taste in performance theater aside, he played a mean guiter. He sang like a country sensation. He smelled like hearth and fire. He comforted with stories of his youth where he was a bumbling skin and bones of a boy. He charmed with tales of a tired baby agent in a big wide world of bioterror.

He was, always in his story, the underdog.

Humble, he made her adore the simple truth that he would never really be the arrogant hero that the world they operated in saw. He was too good to be anything but a nice guy. She wondered about what he'd lost in Ada Wong. The rumors said the love of his life, but that seemed too simple for such a complicated relationship.

Ada Wong had died on the cruise ship where Chris and Piers had failed to thwart the missile that had taken out Tatchi.

She knew Leon mourned her. What else was keeping him so quiet and thoughtful? Perhaps they shared more sadness than she'd originally thought.

She pictured Piers on the water, wading through the foam to toss a handful of cold at her. Her heart swelled. Her hands lifted to block out the dense sun and see the gaggle of girls that waded around the frothy waves laughing and kicking up spouts of it at one another.

Friends.

They were almost as good as family.

Almost, but not quite.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the sun on her face. She knew if she drifted off, Piers would joy her in the sand and speak to her. She knew it wasn't healthy to hallucinate him. She knew that. She also knew it was entirely normal after a tragic death to still feel like that person was with you.

Sometimes, she literally thought he was.

She could almost smell him at night. She could almost hear him in the morning. She could almost taste him in bed.

Her skin was hungry for him.

With a sigh, she murmured, "...I'm tired of being alone."

There it was. There was the truth. She was so lonely. Her heart yearned. Her skin mourned. Her soul swelled with sweet need. She wanted to feel anything again but the pain of knowing her world was broken. She wanted to feel anything at all.

She was afraid she'd go numb before that happened.

She didn't know how to kick start her heart. It was in her chest pulsing and dying. She didn't think all the good humor and charm in the world could bring her back. She needed a miracle.

Her eyes opened.

Her miracle was crossing the sand.

The sun brought out the salt and pepper of his hair. It left his green sweater glowing almost in the golden rays. His beard was beautifully full in that way she adored. A thousand miles away and she wasn't sure how she knew it...but she was positive he'd heard her calling him.

Her face tried to collapse into tears and he cautioned, "Nope. Redfields don't cry, baby sister. I'll tell everyone you're a wienie if you do it."

She hefted herself up from the sand and he caught her in a fierce hug. Not a hallucination. Not a dream. Not a wish. The real thing. Her brother. Her world. Her heart throbbed happily in her chest.

Restarted. Resurrected. Restored.

She clutched him and he held her with _two _good arms.

Somehow, she could breathe again.

She whispered, "...what took you so long?"

And he answered, "I'm here now, Red. I'm here now."

The same nickname...so different from one man to the other. One given in passion and promise. One given in nurture and healing. She wasn't generally a woman who spent too long dwelling, Chris had taught her that, but she kept on holding him. He didn't let go.

Reunited, it felt like everything started make sense again.

In that moment, on the shores of strange place with ties to a past she couldn't let go, she was finally, totally, utterly...home.

* * *

***1 - (**_ádh mór_**) good luck**


End file.
